Talon of the Silver Hawk

And if it was necessary for him to enter the city and search them out there, he would.

 

Tal saddled his tired horse and moved off down the edge of the stream, until he could ride up the bank and head across a clearing for the trail. He turned south on the trail and set off at a slow walk. He knew where Raven’s last camp was, and he was almost certain Raven wouldn’t still be there, so there was no need to hurry at present. He let the horse warm up at a walk for a few minutes, then urged her into a comfortable canter.

 

As he neared Raven’s camp, he took the horse inside the trees and dismounted. Although he would be shocked if Raven had stayed there, he decided he’d rather be shocked than dead.

 

He quickly covered the ground to where he had killed the sentry and found the man still lying where he had fallen. Tal knelt over him but could see nothing to provide a hint as to his identity. Another nameless soldier of fortune hired to kill for pay. Tal checked to see what he might be carrying with him and found that only a dagger in his belt remained. His purse had been cut from his belt—what use would gold be to the dead?

 

Tal walked to the clearing and looked around. The campfire remained where he remembered, but nothing else had been left behind. They had taken the extra horses, which was logical. Raven wouldn’t risk being hunted down just because a steed had gone lame.

 

Tal looked at their tracks and saw they had not even bothered to disguise their choice: back on the trail to the south.

 

Tal hurried back to his own horse and mounted, then set off again in pursuit.

 

 

 

The day was ending, and the sounds were changing, as they always did when the diurnal denizens of the mountains gave way to the nocturnal. Tal knew that this was when both worlds overlapped, when hunters of the night stirred early and occasionally preyed on day’s creatures who were slow to find safe haven.

 

 

 

Tal looked down the trail and tried to anticipate what Raven would do next. After the surprise and losing two men, Tal doubted he would be careless enough to camp out in the open and post only a single watch. He would be holed up somewhere—a cave or under an overhang of rock—keeping a cold camp, and he’d have two men awake at all times.

 

At sundown, Tal picked up their trail again, and he followed it until darkness fell completely. He found as hospitable a place as he could in which to wait out the night, knowing that Raven was at least as uncomfortable as he was.

 

He awoke a little before sunrise and tried to warm up by moving his arms and legs. His neck and back were stiff, and his nose ran. He knew he was becoming sick from fatigue and hunger. He had seen nothing to eat since leaving the village. Knowing that lack of water was an even bigger threat than going hungry for a few days, Tal drank what was left in the waterskin, then set out looking to replenish it.

 

He studied the contours of the land and followed a downslope until he reached one of the plentiful streams that existed in these mountains. To his relief, a stand of blackberry bushes lined the banks, and he set to with a will. Most of the berries were not yet ripe, but the few that were provided him with enough of a repast to boost his spirits and hold off hunger fatigue for a while longer. He spent an hour filling his empty food pack with ripe berries. Still hungry, but feeling much better for the food and water, Tal set off after his quarry.

 

 

 

By midmorning, Tal felt something was wrong. From the distance between hoofprints, he could tell Raven and his men were not in a hurry. Something gnawed at him as he looked down at the tracks.

 

He had passed a pile of horse dung half an hour back, and it was not yet dry; so he must be a very short time behind Raven. But something about the tracks bothered him.

 

He stopped and dismounted. Raven and his three remaining companions had taken the extra horses with him. Then it struck Tal. One of the horses was missing! He moved quickly to make sure he was correct. Yes, he was looking at four horses’ prints, not five. And only three sets of hoofmarks were deep enough to show they carried riders.

 

Someone had slipped off along the way.

 

Tal leapt back onto his horse just as an arrow skimmed past him. He laid himself along the neck of his mount and shouted, startling the animal forward. He let her run into the trees; then he turned and waited.

 

Whoever had shot at him hadn’t followed. Tal sat quietly with his hand upon the horse’s neck, trying to keep the tired and cranky mare calm. He waited.

 

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